


Radio Ga Ga

by callunavulgari



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Partying, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 11:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18916261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: There’s always another party in Hawkins, Indiana. It would be almost boring if it weren’t for Steve Harrington.





	Radio Ga Ga

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write about boys getting hot and heavy in dark corners, so I went back in my inbox and found an old prompt for harringrove and stolen kisses by sightetsound. It was written quickly, and I only gave it a quick glance over for any glaring mistakes. Also, the majority of this was written to Queen's top hits. I have no other explanation for the title, I just forgot how much I loved the song.

There’s always another party in Hawkins, Indiana. Ill-advised bonfires in disused fields, house parties, ragers in old barns, pool parties in rich dick’s backyards. They never end. Spring, summer, fall, winter - doesn’t matter the season, there’s a party somewhere that week. Since coming to Hawkins, Billy has been to dozens. Far more than he ever attended back in California. But hell, bored country kids have to have fun somehow, right? Hawkins doesn’t have boardwalks or oceans or amusement parks. Hawkins barely has a fucking pool.

The parties themselves are repetitive. 

Talking. Drinking. Smoking. Dancing. Fucking.

It would be almost boring if it weren’t for Steve Harrington.

The first time that he stumbles into Billy’s darkened corner at a party, Billy is convinced he’s going to start some shit. Steve’s clearly trashed - stumbling, red-faced, and glassy-eyed - he’s got all the makings of someone who’s going to need to make a break for either the bushes or the bathroom in half an hour or so. His hair is a mess and he’s got lipstick smeared at the corner of his jaw. His lips are red, _wet_ , and he looks a little _too_ undone , like he’s either just been fucked face first into someone’s mattress or he’s halfway to making it happen.

Billy watches him come warily, taking a deep drag on his cigarette before flicking it into the bushes.

“Hey,” Steve says, stumbling and barely catching himself with a hand to Billy’s shoulder. For a moment, he’s a little too close, and Billy can smell the cheap beer on his breath. His hand is warm. Sweaty. And then Steve rights himself, laughing a little as he does so, flashing a shiny smile Billy's way. “ _Hey_.” 

“Hey,” Billy says back, amused despite himself. As he watches, Steve takes a teetering half step back, knocking into the girl behind him. When he tries to correct himself, he overcompensates and knocks into Billy again.

“Jesus, Harrington. How much did you have to drink?” Billy asks, guiding Steve backwards until he can prop him against the nearest vertical surface. It may be the crumbling siding of an abandoned barn, but Billy thinks it’ll probably work. Steve’s skinny.

Steve shrugs and leans into Billy again, still too close. A chunk of drooping hair teases the side of Billy’s nose. He wrinkles his nose and bats it away.

“Enough to think this was a good idea,” Steve says, made cheerfully honest.

“What's a good idea?” Billy asks with a snort, eyeing Steve as he shakes another cigarette loose from the pack. He places it between his teeth and lights it, smoke curling up into the air between them.

Steve snatches it out of his hands, and before Billy can protest, takes a deep drag of his own. His eyelashes are stupidly long, framing those big brown eyes. His slim fingers look good wrapped around a cigarette.

He leans close again, and this time, Billy doesn’t push him away.

“This,” Steve says, gesturing. It’s unclear if he’s gesturing to the party around them, with the shrieking nineteen year olds and the unsanctioned bonfire erected much too close to a building made of dry, old wood, or if he’s indicating Billy himself.

"This?” Billy asks, quirking a questioning eyebrow.

Steve takes another long drag of the cigarette, hooking a hand around Billy’s bicep to keep himself upright when he stumbles over a patch of weeds. Billy lets him keep his hand there. He’s pretty sure if he doesn’t, Steve’s going to end up in the grass.

“Mmhmm,” Steve says, nodding. Billy can see the pulse at the base of Steve’s throat, the skin glistening. He wants to taste it. Guiltily, he jerks his eyes back up to Steve’s face, blinking when he finds Steve staring back at him, a rapt look on his face.

“This,” Steve says, and reaches for him.

Billy is just drunk enough that he lets it happen. Steve drops the cigarette he’s holding in favor of working those fingers into Billy’s hair, dragging him that half a step closer, until Billy’s got Steve pressed back against the wall of the barn. Steve’s mouth is wet and open under his, and when Billy gets a hand curved around Steve’s hip, dragging them together, Steve opens that mouth wider and _moans_.

It’s fucking beautiful.

He kisses Billy like he’s planning on eating him for breakfast - wide, messy kisses that are just this side of too wet, too enthusiastic. He’s handsy too, one hand creeping up under Billy’s shirt as the other drops to squeeze unapologetically at his ass.

Billy presses into him even further, until Steve’s heels are thunking up against the barn wall, and his breath hitches-

It’s fucking _beautiful._

And then, the wall gives under their combined weight and they both go tumbling through. By the time they extract themselves, there are too many eyes on them, and Steve’s pale and blinking a lot in a way that means he’s probably going to throw up soon, so Billy leaves it at that.

Steve’s drunk. He’s somewhere in the vicinity of drunk. And getting handsy with a boy at a party this big probably isn’t his best idea.

But when he goes home that night, he thinks about it, hand creeping under the waist of his boxers. 

 There’s always another party in Hawkins, Indiana. Always another dark corner.

And there is.

A week later, the party of the week is held at a spacious two story in the good part of town. Steve finds Billy in the hallway upstairs, his eyes dark, his hands reaching before they’re even out of sight. The bathroom door shuts behind them and Steve is on him, his mouth just as wet as Billy remembered.

“You drunk this time?” Billy gasps, pushing the shirt from Steve’s shoulders.

“A little,” Steve hisses, knocking them both into the sink when he tries to yank Billy’s jeans down his hips.

They end up only half undressed, Billy’s jeans still around his thighs as they rut together, Steve halfway onto the sink, face buried in Billy’s shoulder.

“Fuck,” Billy says afterwards, the come drying between them.

“Fuck,” Steve agrees, still gasping.

“Next time,” Billy tells him. “I want you in a fucking bed.”

Steve licks his lips and nods. “Next time.”

 The next time, Billy lays Steve out in a stranger’s bed and fucks him into sheets that smell of lavender.

The time after that, he sucks his dick just out of view of a hundred people.

The time after that is in someone’s pool shed, Steve’s ankles hooked at the base of his spine. Everything smells like chlorine, and Steve is deliciously tight and noisy as all hell, muffling little sobbing gasps into Billy’s shoulder as he fucks into him.

There’s always another party in Hawkins, Indiana. Always another dark corner.

But at least it’s not boring, anymore.


End file.
